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Updated: May 25, 2025
But Wapi's bloodshot eyes and battle-scarred face failed to reveal what was in him, and Blake following the instructions of those who should know ruled him from the beginning with a club that was more brutal than the club of the Eskimo. For three months Wapi had been the property of Blake, and it was now the dead of a long and sunless arctic night.
She heard a voice, the la-looing of running Eskimos, a faint shout which she knew was a white man's shout and another rifle shot. Wapi was running nearer. He was almost at the tail of the sledge, and his red eyes were fixed on her as he ran. "Wapi!" she cried. "Wapi!" His jaws dropped agape. She could hear his panting response to her voice.
Rolling undulations grew into ridges of snow and ice; in places the dogs dragged the sledge over thin crusts that broke under the runners; fields of drift snow, fine as shot, lay in their way; and in the eighth hour Uppy stopped the lagging dogs and held up his two hands in the mute signal of the Eskimo that they could go no farther without a rest. Wapi dropped on his belly and watched.
And then the tribal chant of Wapi and his people grew nearer and louder as they passed into the forest, and with a choking cry the Girl drew back from David and stood facing him. "I must hurry," she said, swiftly. "Listen! They are going! Hauck or Brokaw will go as far as the lake with Wapi, and the one who does not go will return here. See, Sakewawin I have brought you a knife!
For after forty years the change had come, and Wapi, as he stood at the woman's door, was just dog, a white man's dog again the dog of the Vancouver kennel the dog of a white man's world. He thrust open the door with his nose. He slunk in, so silently that he was not heard. The cabin was lighted. In a bed lay a white-faced, hollow-cheeked man awake. On a low stool at his side sat a woman.
He had been clubbed until a part of his body was deformed and he traveled with a limp. He kept to himself even in the mating season. And all this because Wapi, the Walrus, forty years removed from the Great Dane of Vancouver, was a white man's dog.
His fangs were an inch in length, his great jaws could crack the thigh-bone of a caribou, and from the beginning the hands of men and the fangs of beasts were against him. Almost from the day of his birth until this winter of his fourth year, life for Wapi had been an unceasing fight for existence. He was maya-tisew bad with the badness of a devil.
She looked over her shoulder. Wapi was there, a huge gray shadow twenty paces behind. And she thought she heard a shout! Peter was speaking to her. "Blake's dogs are tired," he was saying. "They were just about to camp, and ours have had a rest. Perhaps " "We shall beat them!" she interrupted him. "See how fast we are going, Peter! It is splendid!" A rifle-shot sounded behind them.
When they were all out to see Wapi off, I struck her over the head with the end of Nisikoos' rifle. Maybe she is dead. Tara is out there. I know where to find him when it is dark. I will make up a pack and within an hour we must go. If Hauck comes to your room before then, or Brokaw, kill him with the knife, Sakewawin! If you don't they will kill you!"
Quick-tempered, clannish with the savage brotherhood of the wolves, treacherous, jealous of leadership, and with the older instincts of the dog dead within them, their merciless feud with what they regarded as an interloper of another breed put the devil heart in Wapi. In all the gray and desolate sweep of his world he had no friend.
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